


then, the crescendo

by koganewest



Series: Post-Season 8 [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Casual Sex, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Has Abandonment Issues, Keith/Shiro (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-02-29 13:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koganewest/pseuds/koganewest
Summary: Keith should've known better than to return to Earth. He's only ever found pain there.





	1. Chapter 1

It's been ten years since the war. 

It's been ten years since the war, eight years since all planets were deemed stable, five years since Shiro got married, four years since Keith has visited Earth, two years since Krolia and Kolivan went missing, and one year since Keith has even talked to the other paladins. 

All this, he can keep track of. But Keith doesn't know how long it's been since he's felt _okay_.

Loneliness has almost completely consumed him. During the war, he'd thought he'd made friends for life and that he'd found people that would keep him company into his old age. He'd thought that he wouldn't suffer by himself — like he had as a child, and like he had in the desert after he lost Shiro the first time. 

But he was wrong. God, he was so wrong.

The loneliness he feels now is strangling, immobilizing, and hollowing. Keith feels like he's just an empty shell of the person he used to be. 

He wants so badly to see his old friends, but he hasn't been asked to come back by any of them. He doesn't want to intrude or invite himself. He doesn't want to bother him if they don't want him around, no matter how badly he misses them — no matter how badly he's hurting.

And then, one day, he receives a distress signal from Earth at a frequency Keith had only used while part of Voltron. 

Naturally, he panics. 

It seems to be originating from Lance’s farm, and it's broadcasted to him directly. Keith worries that maybe there's a new rebel group targeting Lance because he's a former paladin, and maybe Lance only had time to send a distress call to Keith. The thought is horrifying. 

Keith pushes aside all his worries, though, to focus on getting to Earth as quickly as possible. He leaves his room in the Blade Headquarters and hurries toward the fastest ships in the hangar. 

His hands shake nervously as he plugs in coordinates toward where the signal came from. 

The trip is long, but Keith makes it to Earth much quicker than he ever has before. His mind nearly goes blank on his way there, and he pretty much blocks out everything as he flies through space. 

When Keith enters Earth’s atmosphere with enough proximity to see Lance's farm, he realizes — either with relief or eerie dread — that everything seems normal. 

He lands right next to Lance's house and sprints off the ship and inside as fast as he can and finds Lance just relaxing on his living room couch, casually channel surfing like there's absolutely nothing wrong, like he didn't send a signal of emergency to Keith after literal _radio silence_ for _years._

“Hey!” Lance exclaims jovially from the couch, finally turning around to face Keith, who's staring at him, frozen. “What’s up?”

 _“What's up?!”_ Keith snaps finally, storming over to stand in front of Lance. “Are you insane?! I thought you might be dead! Are you out of your mind? You sent me _an emergency signal_ , Lance! Is everything okay?!”

“Yeah, I'm all good,” Lance chuckles, standing to face Keith without a care in the world. Lance shrugs, “I just wanted to see you. You haven't been back in so long, and I didn't think you'd come unless you absolutely _had_ to. But I'm sorry for making you worry. I guess I could have come up with something different.” 

“What?” Keith asks incredulously. And Lance just shrugs again.

They stare at each other for a moment. Keith eventually sighs, noting Lance really is completely fine. And he looks good, too. His hair is much different than it used to be. Now, it's short on the sides and longer on the top, with hints of highlights — probably due to the sun on the fields. He's also more muscular, more filled-out than he used to be. 

Keith realizes how much he missed Lance. 

So without thinking, he hugs Lance tightly to his chest and just _clings desperately_ until he gets a response. Lance holds him back, almost like he knows just how much Keith needs to feel affection. 

When they pull apart, Lance grasps his shoulders and looks into his eyes. Keith suddenly feels small in his own clothing. 

“You should go see him, Keith.”

* * *

Instead of calling Shiro ahead of time, Keith thinks it’d be better if he just showed up announced. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of talking to Shiro over the phone and asking to stay. 

But when he arrives at Shiro and Curtis’s place, he regrets it very much. 

Keith realizes with mounting dread all the things that could go wrong. Shiro might not be home. Keith might have to talk to Curtis extensively — and without social aspects that might ease conversation, such as other people and intoxication. Or, worse, neither they both could be home, and Keith would have to watch them interact as a couple, a _real married couple_ living a happy life, both domesticated and content. 

Or, worst of all, Shiro could turn him away. 

Keith panics again. 

After all this time, Shiro truly may want nothing to do with him. They could be past the point of no return. They could be history — something Shiro only thinks about as a passing thought, rather than the consuming force Keith experiences. Shiro might even hate him. 

Keith’s hands shake, but he raises his hand to knock on the front door regardless. 

For a moment, the entire ranch house is silent, except for the resounding echo of Keith’s pleading knock. Maybe Keith imagines the way the house seems to creak and settle, as if it’s being weighed down by the burden of his presence, like Shiro will be when he knows Keith is back. 

However, Keith certainly doesn’t _imagine_ the distinctive sigh from within the house — Keith would recognize that sigh anywhere. 

Shiro yanks over the door, red in the face, looking like he’s up-in-arms and poised to argue. Keith takes a frightened step backward. 

“What do _you_ — wait, Keith?” Shiro realizes his mistake halfway through the angry demand, and nearly all hostility is wiped off his face within seconds. And then, he smiles and _laughs_ , a sound so genuine and golden in Keith’s ears that he nearly falls in love all over again. 

“Hey, Shiro. Sorry if I, uh, caught you off-guard,” Keith mumbles shyly, trailing off and scratching the back of his neck, where his ponytail suddenly feels heavy. 

“No, don’t apologize!” Shiro rushes, reddening significantly. Keith watches him pick at the sleeve of an old, unrecognizable hoodie — possibly Curtis’s, he realizes with disdain. Shiro seems embarrassed of his outburst but offers no explanation for it. “It’s actually really great to see you, Keith! Do you have time to come in?”

A nod is the only response Keith can manage. He follows Shiro inside. 

The house is admittedly a mess, but it’s so unapologetically _Shiro_ that Keith’s heart aches a little. God, he’d missed him so much. He’d missed everything, from Shiro’s casual misplacement of socks, to the way he’d crease sofas by curling up at the end every night. This house is the physical manifestation of everything he’d ever wanted with Shiro: a _home_. 

Keith feels like an intruder.

Silently, they come upon a dining room, where Keith half-expects Curtis to be sitting, glass of wine in hand, expectantly awaiting his husband’s company. 

Instead, the table is empty. 

“So… where’s—” Keith stops himself halfway through the question when Shiro turns around quickly and grimaces, as if advising Keith not to ask. They must’ve had a fight. A big one, too, considering the way Shiro had answered the door. Things start to make a little more sense.

“Want something to drink?” Shiro asks, turning around again to sit across from Keith, feigning normalcy. Except for the small fact that instead of soda or water or even wine, Shiro grabs straight tequila out of the closet. And then he just gently sets it on the table, stares at it for a moment, and turns his head to look at Keith, almost begging him to comply.

Despite Keith’s better judgement, he nods. 

Shiro pours two glasses and sets one in front of Keith. It’s then that Shiro seems to realize that Keith’s visit isn’t something that normally happens. 

“Is there a reason you’re back? You haven’t been to Earth in, like, a year or two.”

“Four years, actually,” Keith snaps, raising the glass to his lips for a long sip. Shiro really hasn’t noticed his absence, then.

Keith doesn’t really know why he expected otherwise.

After all, Shiro’s been married for five years; he’s been committed to Curtis for even longer. The couple has been going strong since then, giving Keith absolutely no reason for false hope — which is part of the reason he hasn’t been to Earth in so long. He couldn’t really bear to be around Shiro while he’s in love with someone else. 

Keith doesn’t realize he’s zoned out until the sound of Shiro’s now-empty glass clanks on the table. 

“So, there’s no reason? You just decided after all this time to show up?” Shiro asks, now with biting sarcasm. His brows are furrowed, and his unstyled hair falls into his eyes. His shoulders are simultaneously broad and hunched like he’s trying to seem strong in spite of defeat. 

“What do you care? It's not like _you_ tried to talk to _me_.”

Keith’s tone is just as volatile. The remark makes Shiro’s eyes fall to his hands, where he’s grasping at his sleeve with white knuckles. Keith tries to square himself, to look threatening, to look as if he’s anything but hurt. He adjusts his jacket with one hand and reaches for his tequila with the other, drinking the rest down in one movement. 

“If you want to argue, Keith, you can just—”

“Leave?!” Keith snarls with a sudden surge of anger. He stands, slamming his hands on the table and approaches Shiro. “I guess I'll have to wait another few years till I even see you again, then. Is that how it's gonna be?”

Any hostility on Shiro’s face disappears immediately, replaced by guilt. He whispers, “Keith—”

“Forget it,” Keith dismisses, shaking his head and moving away from Shiro, but he's stopped by a hand at his waist, pulling him backward. Shiro’s suddenly standing from the table and stepping into Keith’s space. The height difference between them — though it has lessened over the years — is still significant. Shiro practically towers over him, and his presence is both anxiety-inducing and calming. 

“No,” Shiro says, calm and even and like a command. “I'm not letting you walk away from me again.”

They're so close. God, they're so close that Keith is dizzy from his warmth, from the scent of his cologne. He doesn't know what to do. He's frozen and paralyzed in Shiro’s grasp, yet he wants nothing more than to _respond_. 

He hates that even after all this time, he's still struck dumb by Shiro's touch. 

“What do you want?” Keith manages eventually in the silence, which seems to startle Shiro slightly. “Why didn't you speak to me? And _why_ do you suddenly want me around?”

Shiro stops to think for a moment, and he subconsciously pulls Keith closer. Time suspends itself; Keith's anxiety heights to insurmountable peaks. He feels like the entire time he spent waiting for Shiro to want him depends solely on the answer to the question. 

It's something he's been dying to ask for nearly ten years, ever since Shiro watched him almost die at Zethrid’s hands. He tries to play it off casually, like he doesn't care, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Keith cares more than he's ever cared about anything. The nonchalance of the question, Keith figures, originates from the way it no longer burns. Now, it's a dull sting that Keith’s used to — almost something he can ignore if he tries hard enough. 

Shiro closes his eyes. And he _breathes._

“Stay the night, Keith. Let me have you.”

Despite the way that Keith’s brain immediately short-circuits, he knows one thing for certain: he should slap Shiro. 

He doesn’t, of course. 

Keith doesn’t slap Shiro because although his request was blatantly inappropriate, it’s also what Keith’s wanted for years — for Shiro to want him in the same way. Keith doesn’t think any amount of vulgarity could dissuade the brief satisfaction he gets solely from being _wanted_. 

It’s a little pathetic in Keith’s opinion, but then again, he’s always been pathetic when it comes to Shiro. 

So instead of an answer, Keith pulls Shiro into a searingly desperate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut in the next one. idk when you should expect it. im just as clueless
> 
> in a week i will be posting a huge klance thing so check that out on the 17th!


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn’t really take long for the two to move out of Shiro’s kitchen. 

It does, however, take a long time for them to actually get into Shiro’s bedroom, because he keeps stopping to push Keith against the wall and mark up his neck hungrily. 

Because Shiro kisses like a starved man. He kisses like he’s been deprived of oxygen and he’s searching, searching, _searching_ for the air he needs. He kisses like it’s been a thousand years since he’s had human contact. He kisses like he’d rather die than wait another second. 

Shiro kisses like he’s wanted Keith for _all_ the years they’ve been apart. 

When they finally reach Shiro’s bed, Keith tries to obtain some semblance of control over the situation, but he ends up flat on his back, underneath Shiro and at his will. After that, Keith doesn’t even struggle against him, he just relaxes and lets himself feel whole again. 

With tentative hands, Shiro cups his face, keeping their lips attached with feverish desire. They move together in sync and, gradually, they lose pieces of clothing. 

Shiro’s got a hand over the front of Keith’s briefs, but he’s barely applying any pressure. He’s making Keith buck up into his hand like a desperate teenage boy. It’s a subtle reminder of the nature of their relationship: that Shiro just takes, because Shiro is never the one to give. Keith is. Keith _always_ is and _always_ will be. 

Yet within seconds, all coherent thought rushes out of Keith’s brain as he’s manhandled into changing positions. Shiro spreads his legs and settles his weight between them, while pinning Keith’s hands above his head with his prosthetic. 

Then, Shiro’s real hand pries off both their briefs and begins to let his fingers wander. He squeezes Keith's ass before he trails toward his hole, but Keith looks up, trying to catch Shiro's gaze. The attempt is practically fruitless; Shiro just continues to stare down to where his own hand has disappeared under Keith, breathing in labored grunts that make Keith impossibly more turned-on. 

When Shiro slips a finger in, Keith can't help but throw his head back and moan lewdly. 

Then Shiro finally makes eye contact, staring down at Keith, frozen and unmoving. The moment seems to stop time between them. Keith's breath catches as he stares back up into Shiro's deep gray eyes, trying to discern what's going on in his head. He watches Shiro blink, purse his lips, then go back to fingering Keith like nothing had happened. 

Things continue steadily for a while after that, yet not even one word passes between them. They communicate through breathy gasps and pleading moans.

They pretend there isn't an ocean separating them, filled with the years of moments they lost. 

Shiro’s movements start to become more desperate, more erratic, until he reaches around for a condom. He finds one in the beside drawer, and once he's rolled it on, Keith begins to move so he's on all fours.

Shiro stops him. He flips him back to the position he’d been in - on his back, legs around Shiro's waist, staring up into his face with starry eyes and reddened cheeks. It's almost humiliatingly vulnerable because he's under Shiro's grasp and at his whim, but Keith loves every second of it. He feels _so close_ to Shiro. It's unlike anything he's ever experienced. 

Gently, Shiro eases into him, and Keith feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Keith can't even believe this is _real_. That Shiro is with him. That Shiro is fucking him- no, _making love_ to him. 

The bed creaks under Shiro’s slow, deliberate thrusts. He's taking his time, like this is some sort of leisurely activity on a Sunday morning. It could be, for all Keith knows. Time is elusive and, frankly, unimportant because all that matters to Keith right now is how Shiro is moving. 

It's almost musical. Together, they build in intensity. 

Shiro's body is a firm presence on top of Keith, pressing and persistent. His face alternates from being nuzzled in Keith’s neck to his hair, or face-to-face. He grabs one of Keith’s legs, under his knee, and pins it up so he can have better access. His thrusts quicken from then on.

Keith wishes Shiro would kiss him again. But still, they build in intensity. 

Their moans echo throughout the room like a repeating hymn; they’re a symphony that Keith wishes he could hear for the rest of his life. The sounds are utter euphoria, and they emphasize the pleasure collecting in pools in Keith's stomach. 

Shiro's eyes close, his nose brushes against Keith's, and his hair tickles his forehead. Gently, they build in intensity. 

Keith's back arches off the bed as Shiro becomes sloppier with his movements and significantly more forceful. The bed beneath them creaks louder, almost foreign with the other sounds. It reminds Keith that this is not his bed, that the bed belongs to a _married couple_ and that Keith is just an affair. 

He hopes Shiro doesn't regret this. Despite Keith's worries, they build in intensity. 

Keith moans his name, Shiro responds with increasing speed, and they continue to build in intensity.

Keith releases on his stomach, Shiro follows not long after, yet still, they build in intensity. 

After they both clean up, Keith lies down and beckons Shiro to follow. They build.

And build. And build.

Then, the crescendo: Shiro refuses to follow Keith back to bed.

“Keith, come on,” he rolls his eyes and chuckles a little. “We aren't gonna cuddle.”

“What?” Keith responds, sitting up as the blanket falls off his bare chest and to his waist. He tries to keep his voice from sounding pathetically hurt, but it's nearly impossible. “But you asked me to stay the night. Do you want me to leave now?”

“I don't know, maybe?” Shiro shrugs half-heartedly, refusing to meet Keith’s eyes. “I didn't think you were gonna take this so seriously. I just kinda needed to get this out of my system.”

“What the _fuck_ , Shiro?”

His voice is harsh and biting, a defense mechanism leftover from years of neglect and heartache. His brain urges him to run, flee, escape - just to avoid getting hurt by Shiro's words more than he already is. Everything is wrong. His blood has run cold. His stomach is churning anxiously. He blinks away persistent tears. His hands are shaking violently. 

And yet, Keith should've known this would end in flames. After all, everything he loves does the same. 

“I mean, come on, I’m married. You knew that. I'm _married_ , Keith,” he stresses, tugging at his hair and staring at the floor. The tension in the room is definitely starting to get to Shiro as well, but what he's feeling definitely isn't at all comparable to what Keith is. 

Keith despises that he has absolutely no shame, standing in the middle of the room, wearing only briefs, with tousled hair and reddened cheeks and an absent stare. 

He just rips Keith's heart out with his bare hands, tosses it to the floor, and stamps on it. 

“Seems like such a successful marriage, Shiro, congrats!” Keith sneers sarcasically, gathering himself from the bed and ready to _defend and resist_ , rather than let Shiro walk all over him. “You do realize what you just did, right?”

“I-” Shiro starts, hesitates, then looks at his feet guilty.

“I don't understand how you could _possibly_ use the marriage argument after what just happened. You realize we just _had sex_ , right?! _In the bed you share with your husband!”_ Keith nearly screams, angrily throwing Shiro's clothes at him while simultaneously trying to dress himself. 

“I thought getting this out of my system might fix things for me and Curtis.”

“So you _used_ me?!” 

Shiro doesn't respond, and now, Keith can't withhold the tears that leak from the corners of his eyes and fall down his cheeks. 

“I thought-” Shiro stutters finally, trying in vain to look Keith in the eye, but Keith shuts it down by looking away almost immediately. It hurts too much. “I thought you knew this was something quick and casual. I didn't realize you thought-”

“That’s _bullshit_ , Shiro, and you know it. I've- I’ve told you so many times how much I lo- how much I care about you!” Keith sobs pitifully, raking his hands through his messy hair. His shoulders shake with heaving breaths, struggling through the emotion clogging his throat and thickening his words. “You _knew_ , and you used me anyway!”

Keith feels so exhausted and drained and _bleeding_. His heart aches in a way that’s both familiar and so new. He's used to the pain associated with the loss of Shiro’s companionship, but this is a whole different beast. This is raw and awful and gut-wrenching. 

“Fuck you, Shiro! Fuck you for leading me on, for making me think I had a chance, for making me hurt over and over, and _fuck you_ for breaking my heart once again.”

Keith wants to punch him. Instead, he can only cry.

He storms out before Shiro can say any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to those who read this and i hope you enjoyed the angst!  
> -lily


End file.
